


I Can't Let You Slide Through My Hands

by Chash



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Buffy The Vampire Slayer Fusion, Alternate Universe - High School, F/M, Past Lexa/Clarke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-18
Updated: 2015-07-18
Packaged: 2018-04-10 00:51:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4370933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chash/pseuds/Chash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke kills her girlfriend and needs some time off. But she's the Slayer. She can't just leave forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Can't Let You Slide Through My Hands

**Author's Note:**

> If you have strong OTP feelings about Buffy's canon relationships, this might not be the fic for you. Bellamy is playing Watcher, but not Giles because, you know. Giles. Non-paternal Watcher. Sorry, Buffy's canon relationships. I'm just not that into you.

Clarke's first stop when she gets back is the library, even though it's summer and after nine at night. Bellamy's basically married to the library; odds are good he'll be there, even though there is no logical reason. And, honestly, she isn't ready to see anyone else yet. He might be at home, but Octavia probably is too, and there's no way she's risking a one-on-one encounter when he's probably not even there.

He's the only one she knows how to talk to right now.

The school is locked, but that hasn't stopped Clarke for a long time. And there is a light on in the library.

She slips in quietly and just watches him for a long minute, drinking in the comforting sight after months of being away. As usual, he's surrounded by books, taking notes with one hand and holding a giant text open with the other. It looks like he hasn't moved in hours, and she sits down next to him without him even noticing she's come in.

It's ridiculous--he lives on a _Hellmouth_. He should be more aware of his surroundings.

"Did you remember to eat?"

He jumps, and his glasses fall off. He shoves them back on and stares at her. "Holy fuck, you're alive, thank fucking god." He hugs her, quick and tight, before his relief turns into anger. "What the fuck, Clarke? What happened?"

"You know what happened," she says.

He rubs his face, but he can't quite keep up his irritation.

Bellamy Blake has been her Watcher for a year, since one of Shumway's lackeys killed Kane. It had taken them a few months to get used to each other; he didn't like her style, she didn't like his apparent belief that he was in charge of her, but they managed to work it out. They're a good team. There's no one she trusts like she trusts him.

"I don't know exactly."

"I stabbed her," says Clarke. "But--she was herself again. When I did it. I sent her into--whatever was on the other side. Untold hell dimension."

"You had to, right?" he asks. "The portal was opening."

"Yeah, I did. But--I don't like that I could."

"You're a better Slayer than you are a romantic," he says. "Also, I'm pretty sure romance kind of sucks, when the whole world gets swallowed by an untold hell dimension. There can't be any time to date. And all the movies are all shitty." Clarke laughs softly, and he flashes her a grin. "It's not an untold hell dimension unless the movies are shitty, right?"

"Is this you trying to make me feel better?" she asks.

"I think it's working, so yeah." She leans her head on the table, and he puts one hand on her back, large and solid, all warm comfort. "Where were you?"

"LA. I figured that's where people go to start over, right?"

"Going for your big Hollywood break?"

"Exactly. I'd be such a great action star. Do all my own stunts and everything."

"Why'd you come back?"

"Stumbled into a den full of evil genies keeping kids for food."

"God, every time, right?"

She laughs again. "Every time." She worries her lip, looks at him. He looks _exhausted_ , so much older than twenty-three. "Sorry I left. It must have been a fucking nightmare for you, with the Watcher's Council."

"Nah, we did all right without you. Not that I'm saying you should leave again," he hastens to add. "We do a lot better with you. But we put up a credible enough defense that I didn't have to tell them you left."

"But you didn't know I was coming back."

"I knew," he says. "You're the Slayer."

"Some Slayer sometime in history must have bailed," she tells him, amused. Bellamy hasn't been a Watcher for that long, but his mother was a Slayer, and he's been immersed in the history and lore of Slayers for basically his entire life. If anyone knows random Slayer trivia, it's him.

"A couple tried," he says, leaning his head on his hand to watch her, warm amusement in his eyes. "But, you know. There's always a den full of evil genies or band of banshees or something. Once you know about this stuff, it's hard to get away."

"You would know."

He shrugs, but she knows it's true. His mother was one of the longer-lived Slayers; she died when she was thirty-four and Bellamy was sixteen, and he took his sister and ran from the whole thing, until he realized the odds weren't bad that Octavia was a potential too, and she'd need someone to look out for her, if she got called.

She might have been, too, except Clarke was instead, after the Slayer who followed his mother died. Four years, not a bad run.

She's aiming for at least five, mostly because she's competitive. She has to do better than whoever came before her, right?

("You died in under a year," Raven said, when she told her this.

"Yeah, but not _permanently_ ," Clarke said. "So it doesn't count.")

"So, you're back to stay?" he asks. "Finish out senior year, go to college? Big plans?"

"Survive the year." She considers, and then adds, "Feel better."

He nods. "Have you been home yet?"

"No. Did you talk to my mom?"

"As little as possible."

She snorts. "Coward."

"It's my job to help you with the slaying, not with the teenage girl shit," he says, and winces immediately. Her teenage girl shit was pretty intimately intertwined with her slaying last year; that was the problem. "I mean, uh--"

Clarke snorts, reaches over and smacks him lightly on the head. "Don't be a dumbass, Bellamy."

"Mr. Blake," he corrects, with a grin. "I'm a teacher, remember?"

"You're a librarian, that barely counts."

"Can I tell O you're back?" he asks.

"Have you eaten anything today?"

"At some point, yeah. Stop changing the subject."

"That wasn't a subject change. You need dinner. We'll go back to your place. I'll tell Octavia I'm back myself."

He laughs, stands and stretches. Clarke looks at him critically; he's rumpled and looks exhausted, and he never eats enough when he's researching. He should take better care of himself.

"What are you even working on?" she asks, following him out. "Is there something coming I should know about?"

The back of his neck goes red. "I was looking to see if I could bring her back for you," he admits. "I thought there was maybe something we missed."

"But there's not?"

"Don't get your hopes up," he says, gruff. "But I'm not done looking yet."

*

Lexa was Clarke's first love, her first real love, and everything about it was a bad idea. She was a vampire, and just because she had a soul, it didn't mean she wasn't a vampire. Kane yelled himself blue in the face, trying to tell her how bad it was, and Clarke didn't listen. Bellamy already knew about it when he showed up, she assumes from Kane's notes, so all he told her was that it wasn't going to work out like she wanted.

After, sitting in the passenger seat of his car, head in her arms, once she'd cried herself out, she told him, "I know you told me so."

"That's not what I was going to say."

"But you did."

"You didn't do anything wrong, Clarke. She didn't either, that's the shitty part. You both did everything right, and it went wrong. I'm never going to fault you for that, okay?" His hand on her shoulders, warm and large, comfort and affection and support. "Just tell me what you need, and you've got me."

She'd liked him before that. She'd thought he was a good Watcher. But that was the first time she felt like they were really a team.

*

Octavia takes one look at her and then throws her arms around her and says, "Thank god."

Clarke clings back. "Hi, O."

"Are you okay?"

"I'm working on it."

"And Lexa is--"

"Lexa again. But she's dead."

"I was hoping she--I thought maybe you saved her, and you guys needed a break."

Clarke smiles wearily. "I would have told you about that."

"That's what Bell said. But he always assumes the worst."

Clarke smiles at him, and Bellamy shrugs. He's in the kitchen puttering around with food for dinner. "I hoped it was okay too," he says. "But there's not a lot to plan for in a best-case scenario. That's why I look at the worst."

"Also because pessimism," says Octavia. "Have you talked to anyone else?"

"Not yet. I think my mom is next. I'll text Raven." She rubs her face. "Fuck."

"Just in general?" Bellamy asks, amused.

"My entire life, yeah."

He puts a plate of food in front of her, Octavia's favorite Filipino chicken stew. It looks like reheated leftovers, and it smells like the best thing ever.

"You know this isn't part of your job description, right? My old Watcher never took me home and fed me."

"Did you ever yell at him for not eating enough?"

"I never had to."

Bellamy sits down next to her with his own bowl. "Well, I always had to cook for my mom, so this is normal for me."

They're living on a Hellmouth, and she was out of town for three months because she had to murder her vampire girlfriend.

"Normal," she agrees, with a small smile, and digs in.

*

If there's one nice thing about living on a Hellmouth, it's that there's always something to do. In her first week back, Clarke slays a bunch of vampires, apologizes to Raven profusely, has a long talk with her about the spell she did and what happened, sets fire to a cursed mannequin, and punches Finn in the jaw for apparently deciding her girlfriend deserved to die. And she makes up her exams from the end of last year, which is mostly Bellamy's doing; she doesn't know what exactly he said to convince the school to let her have a do over, but he's about the most persuasive person she knows.

What little free time she has after that, she spends in the library. As far as she knows, Bellamy's still looking into getting Lexa back, but she doesn't help. He's just the easiest to deal with, quiet and undemanding, happy to not say anything at all. Even when they didn't like each other, they always understood each other.

"Octavia says I should kick you out," he remarks, two days before school starts.

"Kick me out?"

"She thinks you should try to be sociable again."

"I'm sociable."

He snorts. "You're really not."

"I'm really not," she agrees. She runs her hand through her hair. "What am I supposed to do, go to the Dropship and make out with some random person until I forget what happened?"

"That's an option. Not one I support, but you never care if I approve of your social life."

"You're way better about it than Kane was." She looks down, worrying her lip. It's hard to be grateful for Bellamy sometimes, or rather--it's easy to be grateful for Bellamy, impossible not to be, but it makes her feel guilty, as if she's happy Kane is dead. "I don't want to think about what this would have been like, with him."

"Awkward," says Bellamy brightly, breaking the sober mood, and Clarke smiles at him. He squeezes her shoulder, brief and warm, and says, "All I'm saying is, your other friends miss you too."

"Well, nothing's stopping them from hanging out in the library."

*

It's been very weird with her mother. There were, apparently, some number of awkward conversations between her and Bellamy over the summer, and her and Raven, and Octavia, and even Finn, whom Clarke is still not talking to. Abby is mad at all of Clarke's friends, but for some reason, she's started getting coffee with _Murphy_.

"You don't even drink coffee," she tells him. They're at a coffee shop, where they apparently have a weekly date to discuss soap operas. It's at least a public place. Murphy could still kill Abby, but at least he doesn't have an open invitation into her house.

"Sure I do. I just spike it with a little blood. You know, for flavor," he says. "Want to try?"

"What are you even still doing here? I thought you took Emori back from Lexa and bailed."

"I did. Then she told me I was a coward and betrayer, stabbed me, and left me in a ditch to die at sunrise." He sounds pleased about this, like being left to die in a ditch is a turn-on for him. She doesn't get Murphy, seriously.

"Did you want to share my scone, John?" Abby asks, coming back. She _knows_ Murphy is a vampire. This is not okay.

He flashes her a brilliant grin, while somehow also looking smug at Clarke. Murphy is a man of many talents. "No, thank you, Mrs. Griffin."

Clarke huffs. "You know his mug has blood in it, right?"

"Yes, I brought it for him. We have plenty of donors, and this way he doesn't have to kill anyone."

Clarke puts her head down on the table. "How is this my life?"

*

She tells Bellamy about the blood arrangement on the first day of school, and he just shrugs.

"Better than him getting it fresh," Bellamy says, and Clarke glares at him.

"This was your idea, wasn't it?"

"She told me they were hanging out. I trailed them with a crossbow the first few times, but--I think they're friends."

"What the fuck," she says, helplessly.

"Language," he says. "I can give you detention."

"Can you? You're still not a real teacher."

"That's additional detention for being disrespectful," he says. "Where are you patrolling tonight?"

"Park."

"Cool, I'll come."

"Did you know I haven't patrolled alone since I came back?" Clarke asks.

Bellamy shows absolutely no reaction. "Why would I know that?"

"You're my Watcher. It's your job to watch." She fixes him with a hard look. "Do you guys think I'm going to run away if you don't keep an eye on me?"

He's quiet for long enough Clarke thinks he's hoping she'll just forget she asked a question. But finally he says, "We want to be there for you. I know this sucks, we all know. We're your friends, Clarke."

It makes her want to cry a little; it's the most direct affection she's ever had from Bellamy, and it's somewhat overwhelming.

It's been a tough few months.

"I don't mind being alone," she says. "But--thanks."

Bellamy shrugs, but he looks a little flushed. "Like I had plans tonight."

*

As platitudes go, Clarke has always kind of loathed "time heals all wounds," but it is, at least in her experience, kind of true. At some point, she gets over being sad, because being sad all the time is exhausting, and it's hard to maintain. Raven and Wick will be arguing, and she'll laugh. She'll find Bellamy asleep in the library, and she'll feel fond of him. Raven makes a wish because she's pissed at Finn too, and they end up with a new vengeance demon named Anya who has a crush on Octavia, and it's cute.

"It's not cute," says Bellamy.

"It's really cute," says Clarke. "She doesn't know what to do! She likes your sister and she doesn't remember how to have feelings."

"She's a _demon_ ," says Bellamy. "You're my Slayer. Aren't you supposed to be on my side?"

"Only for official Slayer business," she says, breezy. "This counts as teenage girl business."

"I'm not sure I believe there's a difference anymore," Bellamy mutters, and Clarke finds herself smiling again. It's involuntary; it's unavoidable. Now and then, she isn't sad, because she forgets about it.

"Sorry," she says, patting his arm. "I think your sister and her vengeance demon are cute."

"I think _you're_ cute," he says, darkly, on autopilot, and turns bright red. "That didn't work at all as a burn, did it?"

She's laughing now. "Not even a little. Total failure. I'm impressed."

"Yeah, yeah," he says. "Shut up."

The bell rings, and she ruffles his hair as she leaves. "I think you're cute too, Bellamy."

*

In November, Wick turns into a werewolf.

"My nephew, I guess," he says, like this is a standard thing everyone deals with. To be fair, in Clarke's world, it is, but she didn't know Wick was part of that world. He's a cool guy, laid back, good for Raven, but--well, he wasn't in the inner circle.

"So, _my nephew is a werewolf_ was the first explanation that came to mind?" Clarke asks, squinting at him.

"I turned into a monster on the full moon," says Wick, shrugging. "My nephew bit me. It doesn't take a genius. And, even if it did, I am a genius."

Raven elbows him. "You're deranged."

"So, are you going to slay me?" he asks.

"Not if you've got it under control."

His definition of _under control_ involves a locked closet and heavy-duty handcuffs. Clarke and Raven stay outside his door that night; Raven has a silver dagger, and her knuckles are white where she holds it.

"So, which do you think is worse?" Raven asks. "Dating a vampire or dating a werewolf?"

"Vampire, for sure."

Raven snorts. "Not even going to pretend I've got a shot, huh?"

"Can't go on dates during the day," she says, ticking off points on her fingers. "Can't eat garlic at restaurants. They can never sneak in and surprise you because they have to be invited. And they're fighting their desire to kill and eat you all the time, not just three nights a month."

"Lexa wasn't fighting it."

"Not at the end," says Clarke, dark, and Raven looks stricken.

"Shit, that's not what I meant. I meant--she never wanted to eat you. Not while she was Lexa."

"But she was always hungry."

"I thought this was going to be a fun question," Raven grumbles, and Clarke lets out a burst of laughter. Wick hears it and snarls from the other side of the door. "Shut up, Wick!" Raven yells. She raises her eyebrows at Clarke. "What?"

"Just--thinking how fucked up our lives are. _Which one of us is dating the weirder bloodthirsty monster_ was supposed to be a _fun_ question."

Raven pats her shoulder. "And it was. You laughed and everything."

"Yeah."

Raven leans her head on Clarke's shoulder. "Are you going to start talking to Finn again anytime soon?"

"Probably not." The red-hot rage has dimmed, but she's found she doesn't miss Finn in her life. "He still thinks he's in love with me, I still know I'm not in love with him."

"Is there anyone new?"

"No. I don't think I'm ready for anything."

"Well, don't--you're too awesome to never date again, okay?"

"Thanks," says Clarke, and leans back against her. "I'm getting there."

*

"What? Come on! He's totally hot!"

Clarke giggles helplessly. She and Bellamy are on the balcony at the Dropship, people-watching. He's trying to check people out with her, which works fine with girls and _terribly_ with guys.

"You have the worst taste in men of anyone I have ever met," she tells him.

"What's wrong with him? He looks responsible." 

"You cannot possibly tell me that you look for _responsibility_ when you're checking out girls."

He pauses, and then takes a deliberate sip of his drink. Clarke swipes it and takes a drink herself, scowling when she realizes it's not alcoholic. "I knew you were going to try that," he says, smug.

"You're ruining my life."

"Trying to, anyway. Okay, that guy."

"Which?"

"Uh, tall, dark hair, glasses, talking to the cute redhead?"

Clarke frowns. "Fuck, that's a fucking vampire."

"So, exactly your type," he says, already moving. "I'll get the girl."

"You're hotter than him, should work. After this, we are going to have a serious conversation about what you think makes guys attractive, by the way."

"She's into him!"

"Just because she hasn't seen you yet," she says, patting his cheek. "See you in a few."

"Don't get cocky," he says. "I'll come out if you're not back in ten."

"Okay, but if the alley's a rockin'--"

He's laughing when they leave each other, and it's nice, being able to joke about the vampire thing. It doesn't feel like it's going to rip her open. It just feels warm and companionable, like shooting the shit with him about anything else.

And then, she gets the vampire outside and fighting, and that's normal too, all adrenaline and action, something she doesn't have to think about at all. He's more of a threat than she expected, more experienced than he looked. It's a real fight, and she's kind of hoping Bellamy will hurry when he explodes into dust, and there's Lexa, behind him, a stake in her hand.

She looks like Clarke remembers her; the eye makeup she wore as Alexandria is gone, and she looks young and vulnerable, as beautiful as ever. She meets Clarke's eyes, and Clarke is sure she still has a soul.

That's about all she feels sure of.

"Lexa," she says, on a breath.

"Clarke."

"What are you--you--when?" she finally asks.

"A month ago."

"And you didn't _tell me_?"

"I thought you were better off, not knowing."

"Fuck you," she snarls. "You don't--you don't fucking get to decide what's good for me."

Lexa stares at her, her expression weary, years of exhaustion written all over her face. Clarke didn't always feel young next to Lexa, not like she should have, but every now and then, she'll get this look about her, and Clarke remembers she's been around for longer than Clarke can really comprehend. She's lived more lifetimes than Clarke can ever hope to have. Clarke will be dead in ten years, and Lexa will be around for hundreds more.

"I decide what I do," says Lexa, cool, like she was before they were together and she was trying to be distant and uninvolved. "I decided not to tell you."

"You just let me think you were--worse than dead."

Her smile is twisted. "I am worse than dead."

Clarke's about to throw a punch when the door opens and Bellamy rushes out, frantic, ready for a fight. "Clarke--" he starts, and then he spots her. "Fuck," he says, and the tension leaves Clarke, instantly. 

She starts to laugh, surprising herself. Lexa looks more alarmed than she probably would have been if Clarke _had_ punched her. Anger is an emotion she understands; she's less familiar with amusement.

"Clarke?" asks Bellamy, sounding pretty alarmed himself.

"It's fine," she says, smiling at him. "You just said exactly what I was thinking."

Lexa crosses her arms and looks away. "Yes, well. It was--good to see you. I'm glad you're doing well."

"Fuck you," says Clarke, because--yeah, fuck that. Lexa doesn't respond, just nods, once, and then leaves, disappearing into thin air. She's always been good at exits.

Bellamy puts his arm around her, slow, like he thinks she might shove him off, but there's no way. She's glad it's him.

"Was that--" he starts, and then thinks better of it. "What did she say?"

"She thought it was better if I didn't know," Clarke says, unable to keep the bitterness out of her voice. "For my own good, or some shit. Like thinking I fucking--stabbed her into a hell dimension or what ever would be better than knowing we can't be together."

"You can't?" he asks.

"I know sex isn't everything," she says, dry. "But I liked it. And--knowing that if I ever make her happy, she's going to lose her soul? That's pretty fucking grim." She wets her lips and leans her face into his shoulder, trying not to tear up. "And--it kind of sucks? That she never was. Happy, I mean. Or--what was it, exactly?"

"One moment of perfect happiness." He squeezes her. "You made her happy, Clarke."

"Yeah, but--it wouldn't be enough, I don't think." She gives him a wry smile. "Like I said, I liked sex. I'd like to have more. And--it's hard to come back from stabbing someone into hell after her soulless body murdered a bunch of people."

He snorts. "Okay, fine, I take your point. I guess I probably wouldn't do well dating someone I couldn't sleep with either. Not that--" He clears his throat, looks away, like he thinks that admitting he enjoys sex is irresponsible. He's such a teacher sometimes. "It's not all that matters or anything."

"No, but--it was a bad idea before. And she doesn't want to be around anymore."

"Yeah, I could tell from the way she swept in to save you. If she wanted to be gone, she wouldn't be here."

Clarke rubs her face. "That makes me feel so much better."

"That's what I'm here for." He kisses her hair and then lets her go. "Come on, I'll buy an alcoholic drink and let you steal it."

" _That's_ what you're here for," she corrects. "Everything else is just gravy."

*

She doesn't see much of Lexa, for which she's grateful, really, except--well, Bellamy was right. If she didn't want to be here, she would leave. And that's what gets her; she doesn't know if Lexa _is_ here, if she's lurking somewhere, if she's going to show up with some horrible prophesies of doom, like nothing has changed, or if she's left and she's never coming back.

It makes Clarke itchy under her skin, wondering where she is, when she'll see her again. If she'll see her again.

After a few weeks, she gets so desperate she follows her mom to her Thursday night coffee break and corners Murphy.

"You know Lexa's back?"

"Yeah. Where's your mom?"

"She's running late." He gives her an unimpressed look. "I told her I needed to talk to you."

"This was a really fucking exciting week on _Las Pasiones de Maria_ , Slayer," says Murphy. "Your soap-opera life is not more important than my telenovela undeath."

Clarke rubs her face. "Seriously, what the fuck, Murphy."

"This is not how you get me to do you a favor. You should be buttering me up. Get me some fresher blood, maybe. Buy me a pony."

"Look, just--tell me if Lexa is still in town, and I'll leave you alone to talk about Maria and Domingo's secret baby or whatever."

"Diego."

"That was the only problem with that scenario? Wrong secret baby daddy?" Murphy scowls at her, and she holds up her hands. "Okay, okay, sorry. Is she here? Yes or no, Murphy, that's all I need, and I'll leave you alone."

He considers her, but finally says, "Fine, yeah. She's still here. She's still in her fucking _house_ , she's not hard to find."

"I don't want to find her," Clarke says. "I just--I need to know if I might run into her."

"God, what is wrong with you people?" he asks, rolling his eyes. No one can do an eye roll like Murphy. He is the true master. "Just fuck it out. Or, you know, as close as you can come, given the circumstances. Figure it out. Tell me about it later."

"And we're done. Thanks for the info, Murphy. Please don't hit on my mom."

"No promises."

It's still early, and Clarke thinks about going to see Lexa, but--she doesn't know what she'd say. It's an even tossup between _Get out of my town_ and _Please take me back_ , and she doesn't really want to find out which one comes out under pressure.

So instead she goes to the library, because, of course, Bellamy's there.

"What are you even researching?" she asks, folding her arms on the table and resting her head on them, smiling at him. His hair is a mess, getting shaggy, and his glasses are crooked. It's--cute, and the thought has her stomach flipping, and then sinking.

She's not supposed to feel so warm and fond, looking at him. He's Bellamy. He's the uncomplicated one, the one who makes her feel better. The one who never stresses her out. He's not supposed to be--feelings.

"Those disappearances in the paper," he says, because of course he doesn't know she's freaking the fuck out. "The older people. Trying to find a pattern." He rubs his eyes. "What are you doing here? Everything okay?"

It felt a lot easier to talk about Lexa before he looked so warm and inviting, so--well, he looks like he always looks, so maybe she's the one who's changed. She figured out a new way to see him, and it's too much.

"Murphy says Lexa's still in town," she says, because he should know anyway. "At her house. Which means--I dunno. I could find her anytime, right?"

"Yeah," says Bellamy. "But you found me instead."

He doesn't mean anything by it, she knows, but her heart still lodges in her throat, because--yeah, she did. And it means something, apparently. She wishes she'd noticed before she came over, so she wasn't dealing with it _now_ , with him right here.

"Yeah," she says. "Well. I don't know what I'd say to her." She licks her lips. "I want her to leave. I don't--I hate knowing I might run into her somewhere, you know? I feel like I'm looking around every corner, waiting for her to jump out. Which I know sounds stupid--"

"Nah," he says, and gives her an easy grin. "I've definitely had exes like that."

"You've had exes?" she asks, all innocence. "I thought you were married to the library."

"Ha ha," he says, rolling his eyes. "This was before it got serious with the library."

"Bellamy's nightmare exes," she says, amused. "You totally fucked a succubus, didn't you?"

"I'm not having this conversation." He closes his book and stretches. "Do you want me to talk to Lexa?"

"No, god, why would I ever want that?"

"So you don't have to."

"Thanks," she says, smiling a little. "But if I'm going to do it, I'm going to do it myself."

"Sounds good," he says, and offers his hand. "Come on, I bet you haven't eaten either."

"Safe bet," she says, and follows him home.

It feels--normal, and that's kind of the scariest part. The warm tingle at the touch of his hand, that's new, but all the fondness and even the attraction, that's familiar, and somehow, she just never noticed, and she kind of wants to throw up.

*

"Are you in love with Wick?" she asks Raven. She'd ask Octavia about her love-life, but Anya is vaguely terrifying, and she isn't actually convinced she wants to know. And she doesn't think they've figured it out yet. Anya is still mastering being a human and Octavia is still mastering being into girls and getting around Bellamy to date.

She hopes those crazy kids make it.

Raven glances up from the computer she's tinkering with. "What?"

"Just--we haven't done girl talk much lately," she says, awkward. "I wanted to know how it was going."

"That wasn't what you asked," says Raven. "And we haven't done girl talk because girl talk for you is a fucking minefield of supernatural bullshit."

"I know," she says. "But--I'm doing better. Really."

"Which is why you're asking me if I'm in love with Wick. Don't try to pull one over on me. I know you, Griffin." She points her screwdriver accusingly at Clarke. "You're having some sort of dumb crisis, and you're trying to make it about me so you don't have to talk about it."

"Yes," Clarke admits. "But--I also wanted to know. I know you had, um--there was Finn."

Raven heaves a sigh. "There was Finn," she agrees. She worries her lip, and finally says, "Wick is never going to be like Finn. No one's ever going to be like Finn. But there's more than one way to love a person, you know? Finn's always going to be my oldest friend, and my first love, and the first guy who broke my heart." She grins at Clarke. "And the first guy who my best friend punched in the face for lying to her about her vampire girlfriend."

Clarke laughs. "First and last."

"Hey, you've got a fucked up life. I'm not ruling anything out." She nudges her shoulder against Clarke's. "You thinking about getting back in the saddle?"

"Not really. Just--thinking."

"You and Lexa were good together," she says. Raven was always pretty supportive of the two of them; Finn was probably a factor in why, but Clarke wasn't looking a gift horse in the mouth with that one. Any support was appreciated, because everyone else was telling her not to date a fucking vampire. "But--it'd be hard to come back from that. It's okay if you can't."

"I thought she was, I dunno. It. My soulmate."

"Maybe she was. But fuck that. Find another soulmate."

Clarke laughs. "Just like that?"

"What?" asks Raven. "Like it's hard?"

*

Bellamy gets a girlfriend, which is--to be expected, really. He's twenty-three, he's attractive, he's single, he's not actually married to the library. 

And his girlfriend is nice. Really. Her name is Maya, but she's a teacher, and a non-Bellamy teacher, so they call her Miss Vie, which is hilarious only because it makes Bellamy squirm, like he is embarrassed to be dating an actual adult.

Clarke isn't jealous. Really. Miss Vie is nice, and sweet, and she's really confident it will not last, because while she's clearly got a steel backbone, she's just too--cute. For Bellamy. Miss Vie seems like the puppy love type, and Bellamy is, well. A sarcastic asshole who spends most of his time in the library, buried in old books no one cares about, forgetting to eat. He needs someone more forceful, who will tell him when he's being a fucking idiot, and he and Miss Vie don't have that vibe.

It's not going to be serious, she tells herself. There's no way they're going to be serious.

But they keep _not breaking up_. One month turns into two turns into three, and Miss Vie is still around, _helping with Slayer stuff_ , like that's _her_ job, and Clarke is getting more and more irritable.

"Oh my god," Octavia finally snaps, in March, slamming her book closed and dragging Clarke, by force, out of the library. Clarke's the Slayer; in theory, she could resist Octavia. But Octavia Blake is a force of nature. "What the fuck, stop scowling at Maya."

"I'm not," says Clarke.

"She and Bell aren't dating."

"I don't care," says Clarke, reflexive and petulant, and then asks, "Wait, what?"

"Maya is smart and has a skillset Bell doesn't. He _sucks_ with computers, and there's all sorts of weird social media shit now. They went on one date, and now they're friends, so you can stop hoping she gets bitten by a vampire so you have an excuse to stake her."

She winces. "I didn't want that."

Octavia softens. "Yeah, okay, sorry. I know. But--they're not together."

She feels like she should say something casual, like she doesn't care about this information at all, but Octavia clearly knows she cares, and probably knows _why_ , so pretending otherwise is just going to come across as somewhat pathetic. Which, okay, her crush's little sister is yelling at her about how he's single, so she's going to be pathetic no matter what, but it seems like she should at least try to minimize it. "Okay," she says. "Well, uh. Thanks. For the update."

Octavia rolls her eyes. "He was born in the same century as you," she says, bright. "That's a plus."

"Just barely," Clarke points out.

"Still."

"Still," Clarke agrees. "Thanks."

*

One weird side effect of Clarke having--very briefly--died is that there's another Slayer around, doing her own thing, wandering in and out of town when she feels like it. Indra was raised to be a Slayer her whole life, and she mostly makes Clarke feel like she should tuck in her shirt and become a better person. Indra would never date a vampire or develop feelings for her Watcher or think about blowing off patrol to go to a club. If Indra has feelings that do not directly relate to killing vampires and saving the world, Clarke is not aware of them. She is simultaneously Clarke's rival, Clarke's role model, and Clarke's go-to emergency contact (non-Bellamy edition).

She shows up in late April with news about some pair of vampires who have been behind most of the weird shit Bellamy's been investigating over the past year, a father and son who are trying to do some fountain-of-youth thing on their followers, using the Hellmouth, some senior citizens, and black magic. Clarke doesn't follow the details, because she doesn't need the details. She just needs to know what to stab and when, and Indra has the hookup on that. May, right around when AP exams are starting, of course.

"Do you think they actually check my academic calendar?" Clarke asks Bellamy. Now that she knows he's not dating Miss Vie, she's back to hanging out in the library most of the time. If Bellamy noticed she was gone, he didn't mention it, and he hasn't mentioned she's back either. She kind of wants to strangle him. "Like, they download it off the school website and see, okay, Clarke has three tests this week, let's go fuck shit up."

He snorts. "Honestly, it wouldn't be a bad strategy. It's a good thing you're not on Twitter, you'd say you were going on a date and twelve vampires would show up to try to kill them."

"Yeah, because I go on so many dates these days," she says, rolling her eyes.

"Well, someday," he says. "When you're ready."

Clarke smiles a little. "This is teenage girl stuff, not Slayer stuff."

"Friend stuff," says Bellamy, gruff.

"Friend stuff," she agrees. "I just--it's not the right time yet. Maybe once we deal with--do you think their names were Dante and Cage when they were human, or they picked cooler vampire names?"

Bellamy snorts. "Cooler vampire names, definitely." He nudges her with his foot. "What would you go with? For your cool vampire name."

"Slayer is already about as cool as it gets. But I guess it might be kind of weird if I was a vampire going by Slayer."

"Slayer the Slayer Slayer. Doesn't really have the right ring to it."

"Exactly. What about you?"

"Fang," he says, and she giggles, can't help it. She really missed hanging out with him.

"Wow, you had that one all picked out."

"Yeah, well. Always be prepared." He taps his pen against her book. "Keep reading. We need to know when they're going to move."

But he's smiling when he goes back to his book, and she is too.

*

"What about Lexa?" he asks. The ritual is tomorrow, and they're checking their resources, making sure the bows are all strung and the stakes are sharp.

Clarke feels tension race up her back. "What about her?"

"She's still in town, right?"

Murphy has been keeping Abby up to date with Lexa's whereabouts, because Abby is worried about Clarke. Which is honestly weirder than Abby and Murphy being friends in the first place, for reasons she's not really clear on. It doesn't seem worth examining; as always, her entire life is basically a suburban horror young adult novel. All weirdness is relative.

"Yeah," she says, and it comes out harsh. "Why?"

"I'm on your side here," he says, mild. "But--if they have as many people as it looks like they have, we can use all the help we can get."

They've got the two of them, of course, and the usual crew--Raven, Octavia, and even Finn--plus Indra, Wick, and Anya. Abby even talked Murphy into tagging along, because Murphy has already established that he likes the world, and would like to keep it, which the vampire equivalent of being a big old softie.

Clarke slumps. "You're right," she says, rubbing her face. "It's--a good idea." She wets her lips. "I can ask her for her help, and then I can tell her she needs to go. Once this is over."

"Yeah?"

"It's--it doesn't do either of us any good. Having her around." Every time they run into each other, it's awkward and horrible, and Clarke is sick of worrying about it. They're over. They need to be done with, too.

"So, you're not going to try again," he says. "When you're ready."

"No. Not with her."

His smile is small and fond. "Good."

*

Going to visit Lexa at dusk is familiar, a little disconcerting, like stepping back in time. She used to do this often, sneaking away after patrol, coming any time she could get away. The large, empty house feels like a place she used to live, one that she's outgrown, but wishes she hasn't.

"Clarke," says Lexa, when she opens the door. She's still beautiful, of course. Still being in love with Lexa when she loves Bellamy doesn't feel strange at all; being in love with Lexa has always been easy. It's that she thinks she was a little in love with Bellamy, even with Lexa, she's sure, that confuses her. That a part of her has always been fond of him, even when she was sure Lexa was all she'd ever want. She wouldn't have run away with Lexa, because she couldn't be without everyone else.

"Something big is coming," Clarke says. Slayer business first, teenage girl business once she's done. "We could use your help."

"The Wallaces," she says. "I know." She considers Clarke, regarding her with steady eyes. It hurts, but it's not--there's too much. She can't want anything from Lexa anymore, but it's impossible to want nothing. "You really want my help?'

"I don't want any of my friends to get hurt," says Clarke. "The more people we have, the better off we are."

Lexa nods. "I was planning to offer my assistance."

"Good." She squares her jaw. "I want you gone, after this. I don't care where, but--I'm the Slayer. I have to be here. But I don't know how to be here with you."

"Are you fucking your Watcher yet?" she asks, an attack, but Clarke doesn't flinch.

"Please," she says instead. "I need you to go."

Lexa is looking at her again, but whatever she's looking for, she must find, because she nods. "I understand. I was hoping we could--I wanted to make things right."

"You didn't even tell me you were alive. You could have done a lot more, if that's what you wanted." She lets out a long breath. "It's over. We're through. There's nothing left to do."

"After tomorrow, then," says Lexa. "I'll go."

"After tomorrow."

*

She's assuming there will be some kind of dramatic goodbye between the two of them, like something from the movies, but what happens instead is that Bellamy gets thrown into a wall and doesn't get up again, and there's no way Clarke is leaving the hospital to see Lexa. Not until she knows he's all right.

It's almost dawn when he finally wakes up, and Octavia comes to get her at once.

"That was stupid," Clarke tells him, sitting down in the chair next to him. He looks tired, but not too badly off, and she can taste relief in her mouth. "You use that arm."

"Not the ribs, though," he says, voice hoarse and too faint for her liking. Loving humans is awful; they're so fragile, and she doesn't know what she'd do without him. "Never use my ribs at all."

Clarke leans in, rests her forehead against his uninjured shoulder. "You're just supposed to watch, dumbass. It's right in the name."

"Yeah," he agrees, sliding his hand into her hair. "Working on it."

He falls asleep like that, and Clarke can't bring herself to move. She must drift off too, because she wakes up when Octavia comes back in. There's a crick in her neck, but she still can't bring herself to move away from him. 

"How's he doing?" Octavia asks, soft.

She regards him, pale and worn out, but _alive_. He looks younger when he's asleep, peaceful. Happy. "Fine, I think. Asleep is a good sign."

"Yeah. Are you going to stay?"

"Yeah, of course."

Octavia smiles. "Good. Raven says everyone else is fine. No other major injuries."

"Thanks for calling her." She worries her lip. "Did she mention Lexa? Is she gone?" 

"I guess so. Raven said she said to tell you goodbye." She makes a face like she's smelling something bad, and Clarke has to smile. Octavia's always hated Lexa.

"Good," she says, and settles back in, closing her eyes.

She remembers Lexa asking if she was fucking him; it couldn't have been a surprise that she went with him, instead of sticking around to say goodbye.

She always picks Bellamy.

*

When she was little, Clarke used to dream about prom. Before her parents got divorced, before she became the Slayer, she had all the usual fantasies about going in the perfect dress with the perfect boy. Her and Wells, king and queen of high school, like something out of a fairytale.

But Wells is dead, and Clarke is in a different kind of fairy tale.

Bellamy is going to prom, of course, now that his ribs and arm are mostly recovered, but he's chaperoning, and she's pretty sure it's just so he can glare at Octavia and Anya. And she's probably not supposed to ask him to go with her anyway; he's a teacher, and it's wildly inappropriate. 

It's a good excuse for not having the guts to say anything.

As it turns out, it's just as well she doesn't have a date, because she has to spend the start of her senior prom fighting off some loner weirdo who's bitter he's single, which is just--pathetic. Clarke's been single for almost a year, and she's not trying to kill anyone who doesn't try to kill her first. She doesn't know what's wrong with this guy. But it's always nice to feel better adjusted than someone.

She gets changed once she's sorted out the hell hounds and rushes in only a couple hours late; Bellamy is waiting by the door, alternating between scowling at Octavia and Anya and checking everyone coming in, trying to spot her. His face clears as soon as he does, breaking into a wide smile and yes, he's definitely it. He's her person.

"Everything okay?" he asks, giving her his punch without her even having to ask.

"Perfect."

He frowns a little, confused, but she just smiles, feels uncomplicated, for once. She's at her prom with the boy she likes, and her friend are all here too, and they're happy. Raven's slow-dancing with Wick, leaning against his chest, and Octavia and Anya seem to be having some kind of intense debate about the food table. Even Finn looks content, dancing with a girl from their math class, and Clarke finds it in herself to be happy about that too.

And then there's Bellamy, next to her, warmth of his body all up her side.

"We've had worse years," she decides.

"It's only my second full year," he points out, surprising her.

"Oh, yeah." She laughs. "I can't believe I haven't even known you for three years. It feels like it's been forever."

He grins. "That bad, huh?"

"You know that's not what I meant."

"I know." He looks at the dance floor, licks his lips. "So do you--"

"Excuse me?"

She really wants to hear whatever Bellamy was going to say, but his attention shifts to Monty Green, alone on the stage, looking nervous, and it's hard to really resent Monty for anything. They've never been close, because Clarke can't get close to anyone unless she tells them a lot of things that she doesn't, as a rule, share, but she likes him all the same.

"I've just been informed Clarke Griffin did come, after all, so we have one more award to give out."

"You're up," says Bellamy, nudging her.

"Did you know about this?" she asks him, wary.

"Why would I know anything about anything? Go."

"Clarke?" asks Monty again, and she waves.

"I'm here."

"Great. We did, um. We had something to give you. For--everything that you've done for us."

She returns to Bellamy with a small golden umbrella, one of the cheap dollar store ones they've decorated and put a plaque on, and holds it up for his approval.

"Class protector," she says, beaming.

"Class protector," he agrees.

"You were asking something," she adds, nudging him, when he doesn't say anything else. "Before I got called up."

"Yeah, uh--" He looks away, up at the ceiling, and his voice comes out gruff when he says, "I thought you might want to dance."

Clarke's been grinning ever since Monty gave her the umbrella, but that somehow makes her smile even harder, so much her face hurts. "You're a teacher," she teases.

He risks a glance back at her, grins himself when he sees her expression, and doesn't look away again. "I'm a librarian," he corrects. "It barely counts."

He offers his hand and she takes it, but she still has the umbrella, and she gives his fingers a quick squeeze. "Let me just drop this off with Octavia."

He looks a little spooked. "You're going to tell Octavia you're dancing with me?"

"She's going to _see_ ," Clarke teases. She worries her lip. "She already knows how I feel," she admits.

"I don't know how you feel."

"Yeah, you do." She squeezes his hand again, and then lets go. "Back in a sec."

She drops the umbrella off with Octavia and Anya. Anya raises her pinky finger at Clarke, which confuses her, until Octavia takes her hand and corrects it to a thumbs up.

"I knew it was one of the fingers," Anya grumbles, and Octavia kisses her cheek.

"So close. Have fun, Clarke."

Bellamy puts his hands on her waist, and Clarke winds hers around his neck. "This is definitely really inappropriate, right?"

"I'm not sure it's actually worse than everything else we do," he says, smiling down at her. "Did I mention you look beautiful?"

"No."

"Well, if I'm being inappropriate anyway, I might as well, right?"

"Definitely." She rubs her thumb against his neck and is instantly gratified when he shivers. "You're very handsome too, Bell."

"Fuck, this was such a bad idea," he says, but he's laughing, so she can't really be offended. "I'm definitely going to get fired if we start making out."

"I'm eighteen, I'm graduating in a week. There are way worse students you could make out with, if you think about it."

"That's definitely the argument I'll make when they fire me." His hands tighten on her hips. "I really thought you and Lexa were going to work it out. You guys are--"

"Intense," Clarke says. "Romeo and Juliet, stuff of legends shit. The Slayer and the vampire with a soul." She rolls her eyes. "It was--a lot. And part of me is always going to love her. But we don't work. Not how I want to." She smiles at him. "Not how I work with you."

He bites his lip and looks around. "So, you want to leave before I get fired?"

"I kind of want to see you get fired."

He snorts and lets go of her as the song winds down. "Sorry, Griffin. I like my job."

"Fine. Let me just go get my umbrella."

They walk back towards his place hand-in-hand, mostly not talking. She feels like there should be a lot of things to say, but she and Bellamy haven't ever really needed to talk about the important things. They're always on the same page.

"Good thing I don't have twitter," she remarks, finally. "If I posted _gonna fuck my watcher_ , we'd definitely have like fifty vampires coming to cockblock us."

Bellamy snorts. "If you posted _gonna fuck my watcher_ on twitter, I definitely wouldn't fuck you."

"Yeah, you would."

"Okay," he grants. "Yeah. I would." He looks down at her. "You sure?"

She has to laugh. "I've been thinking about this for _months_. Octavia practically had to talk me out of murdering Miss Vie."

"Maya? Why were you going to murder Maya?"

"I thought you guys were dating."

"Oh. Yeah, that--didn't work out." He squeezes her hand. "I really have no idea why I tried."

"You felt creepy, wanting to hook up with a student."

"Your last girlfriend had a bicentennial," he says. "I'm so much less creepy."

" _Less creepy than dating a vampire_ ," Clarke muses. "Way to clear a high bar, Bellamy."

"And I don't lose my soul during sex," he says. "As a bonus."

"As a bonus," she agrees, and follows him inside.

*

Clarke wakes up with Bellamy's arms still around her, Bellamy still _next to her_ , mostly naked and asleep, his hair a mess and a little tangled with hers. It's a big improvement over the last time she got laid, which involved waking up alone in a cold bed and discovering her girlfriend was a totally different person.

She pokes him in the side, and he groans and buries his face against her hair. "It's Sunday, Clarke," he says, muffled. "There's no reason to be awake this early on a Sunday."

"Still you," she says, and he blinks at her, frowning.

"Still me," he confirms. "Should have thought of that, sorry." He leans in and kisses her. "We're good, Clarke. I promise we're still good. I told you, I don't lose my soul during sex."

"I dunno, I thought maybe I was just _really_ good."

"The best," he says, affectionate, and she closes her eyes, snuggling back against his chest. 

"Go to sleep," she tells him. "It's Sunday. There's no reason to be awake this early on a Sunday."

He snorts and kisses her hair. "Gee, I don't know why I didn't think of that."

The next time she wakes up, he's still there, and the next, and the next.

She could get used to it.

**Author's Note:**

> I AM really into the class protector award. Never forget the class protector award. Regularly cry about the class protector award.
> 
> Bellamy POV [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5691655/chapters/17075671)!


End file.
